


Paranormal Activities

by EclecticMuse



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Amusement Parks, Clowns, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Ghostbusters AU, Ghosts, Humor, Los Angeles, Scary Clowns, Slime, ghost hunters au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:19:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9815378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse
Summary: It's just another normal day at SHIELD Paranormal Investigations, Inc., but what should have been a routine calls turns into Fitz having to face one of his worst nightmares--with slimy consequences.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ignitethestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitethestars/gifts).



> I wrote this for Tegan for the Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine exchange, who asked for a ghost hunters AU. I hope you like it! It's not strictly a ghost hunters AU, _or_ a Ghostbusters AU, but are ghosts and hunting and they have proton packs. This fic is basically me attempting screwball humor.

_The subject was dispatched with no small degree of difficulty due to its telekinetic abilities. The subject has been tentatively identified as a Class II free-roaming vapor, pending further data analysis. If no further reports of disturbances follow within the next three weeks, the case will be considered closed._

Jemma Simmons smiled as she hit the return key on her laptop, closing out the case file she had been writing up. Another afternoon was drawing to a close at SHIELD Paranormal Investigations, Inc., and she had spent most of the day catching up on paperwork for old cases they’d worked on. Without any incoming calls, it had seemed like the best way to make use of her time.

She took a moment to look around at her friends and co-workers. Daisy was seated at the desk next to her, her feet propped up on the aging wood. She was scrolling through her phone with one hand, with a half-eaten slice of pizza held in the other. Behind her, back in the area they’d designated as the lounge, Fitz and Mack were sitting on the couch, hunched over the video game controllers they held in their hands, deep into a competitive- looking round of Call of Duty.

The comfort and familiarity of the atmosphere surrounding her made Jemma smile again. They had all known each other for years by now; Daisy had been a random roommate assignment of hers at university, and they’d hit it off immediately, despite being so different. Mack had been a fellow engineer at Fitz’s first job at a research and development facility contracted out by the military. As for Fitz….he was Jemma’s oldest and best friend, and they had recently made the leap from platonic to something more.

Jemma had just crossed over to Daisy’s desk to grab a slice of pizza from the open box next to her when the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” Daisy said around a mouthful of pizza, and quickly swallowed as she sat up and leaned forward to grab the phone. “SHIELD Paranormal Investigations, how can we help you?”

Daisy listened as the person on the other end of the line spoke, and Jemma only paid her half attention as she gave the pizza a wistful look. Since a call had come in, it was likely they would need to go out into the field shortly, and she wouldn’t have enough time to eat. Looking over at Fitz and Mack, she saw that they were getting to a stopping point in their game.

“Okay, so you’re saying--yes, yes, I see, I understand completely,” Daisy said, tapping her fingers against the top of her desk. “Yeah, we can come out right now. Okay. Gotcha. Bye!”

She hung up and swiveled in her seat to face the couch, where Mack was just exiting out of their game. “We got a live one, guys. Out at Pacific Park on the pier. A ghost that can interact with stuff and is bothering the people there.” She grinned wickedly. “The lady one the phone said it looks like an old clown. Easy, yeah?”

Mack nodded in assent, but Jemma looked over at Fitz, who had stilled as he rose from his seat on the couch. “A...you said a clown?” he asked, his voice going a bit high.

“Yeah,” Daisy replied. “Why? What’s wrong with clowns?”

“Fitz is afraid of them,” Jemma said airily.

His jaw dropped. “I am not _afraid_ ,” he shot back, but his cheeks still flushed a dull pink. “It’s just--I--they unsettle me. They’re creepy.” He crossed his arms, looking petulant. “ _Not_ afraid.”

Jemma hid a smile behind one hand.

“Okay,” Mack said slowly, looking between the two of them. “Are you gonna be able to handle this call, Turbo? Do we need to leave you here to hold down the fort?”

Fitz shook his head, looking as defiant and stubborn as Jemma had ever seen him. “ _No_ , I’ll be fine. Promise. Clowns are stupid.” But she didn’t miss the way his voice hitched ever so slightly. “Come on, let’s go grab our equipment and get this over with.”

Mack led the way into the back room where they kept all of their equipment stored, and as they walked, Daisy sidled up to Jemma. “Is Fitz really scared of clowns?” she whispered. When Jemma nodded--she didn’t want to attract Fitz’s attention--Daisy asked, “What happened?”

Jemma pursed her lips and she pulled a case full of scanning equipment out of the cubby she’d stored it in. “From what I understand, there was an incident at a birthday party when he was very young,” she explained. “But he doesn’t like to talk about it. He just avoids any mention or sight of clowns if he can.” Seeing Daisy fighting to contain a smile and failing, she added, “But don’t tease him too much. You know how he can be about some things.”

“Yeah, I know.” Daisy swung her proton pack up onto one shoulder. “Remember when he screamed like a little girl when I made him watch Paranormal Activity? I didn’t let him live it down for _weeks_. And we’re _ghost hunters_ , for crying out loud.”

Picking up her own proton pack, Jemma took it and the case of scanning equipment and made to follow Mack outside. “Well, we _have_ seen some fairly scary things since we started doing this, haven’t we? Remember the poltergeist from that old hotel?”

Daisy made a face. “How could I forget? It tried to talk through me.”

Jemma nodded. “Hearing you speak in tongues was very disturbing.”

It didn’t take long to get all of their equipment loaded into the back of Daisy’s van, and then they were driving across town, headed toward Pacific Park. Daisy drove while Mack rode shotgun, leaving Fitz and Jemma sitting together in the back. Jemma had her tablet out, attempting to do some cursory research before they reached their destination.

“It says here that Pacific Park is located on the Santa Monica Pier, on what used to be called Pleasure Pier, or Newcomb Pier,” she said, slowly scrolling through the article on her tablet. “It was built in 1916, adjacent to the Santa Monica Municipal Pier, though both are now considered the Santa Monica Pier. Anyway, the park thrived during the 1920s but eventually went out of business during the Depression. It was in a state of disrepair for decades before the city bought it in the Seventies with the aim of redeveloping it into what it is now.”

“And this ghost is haunting the park?” Mack asked, glancing back at Jemma and Fitz. “What intel did you get, Daisy?”

Daisy flexed her hands around the steering wheel. “Well, the lady who called said they’ve had a ghost there for years. They even gave him a name, Chuckles--”

Next to Jemma, Fitz shuddered lightly.

“--Because they could hear him laugh sometimes. But she said he never bothered anyone or anything until really recently. he was just kind of like--the friendly ghost that the staff could laugh about, you know? Kinda like Casper.”

“I _wish_ it was Casper,” Fitz muttered. Jemma reached over to give his knee a reassuring squeeze. He looked up at her, and gave her the smallest of smiles in return.

Mack nodded, absorbing the information. “So I guess that changed?”

“Yeah,” Daisy said. “Apparently he’s started causing trouble, knocking things over, causing machines to stop working, chasing people, stuff like that.”

“That’s because clowns are evil,” Fitz intoned darkly.

Laughing, Mack twisted in his seat to face them more fully. “Fitz, I thought you’re a man of science. Didn’t think you’d buy into things being inherently evil without solid evidence to back it up.”

Fitz lifted his chin. “Oh, I have evidence, believe you me, and--” Then he cut himself off, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “But that’s not important. Right. Jemma, what do you think?”

Jemma had to fight down another smile. She found Fitz to be rather adorable when he got grumpy like this--her stubborn, obstinate boyfriend. “Well,” she said, “I have some theories. The ghost can’t be anyone who’s passed recently, because it’s been there for years. Pacific Park as it stands now only opened in 1996. I can’t find any reports of hauntings from before that, so my hypothesis is shaky at best, but I believe our ghost is probably from the first incarnation of the park, back in the Twenties.”

“And no ideas as to why he’s only acting up now?” Daisy asked.

Jemma shook her head. “No. Hopefully we can learn more once we reach the Park.”

Ghost-busting wasn’t the only thing they did; they also sought to gather data about ghosts and hauntings in general, hoping to gain a better understanding of why they existed and how they worked, to give their existence a grounding in scientific fact. So far, they’d amassed a large body of work--the greater Los Angeles area did not suffer a lack of paranormal goings-on--but they were still studying their findings, hoping to come up with a reasonable hypothesis.

Their conversation moved on to other topics as they drove toward the ocean, from past cases to their weekend plans to Mack’s girlfriend Elena, who frequently stopped by their office to visit. It was enough to carry them all the way to Santa Monica, where they parked as close as they could to the pier. The sun had just sunk below the horizon, the last tendrils of red and gold reaching up into the inky twilight sky, and a warm breeze was blowing in off the ocean. Jemma had the thought that it would have been a lovely evening for an outdoor date, and she briefly indulged herself by imagining strolling along the pier, arm-in-arm with Fitz. But they had work to do.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the staring,” Fitz said as they all got their proton packs out of the back of the van and adjusted the straps over their shoulders. He nodded in the direction of the pavilion, where some curious onlookers had noticed their fancy equipment, noticed _them_ , and had started to group together to watch what they hoped would be a spectacular show. “I much rather prefer when we have to investigate private property.”

“Aw, come on, Fitz,” Daisy said cheerfully as she adjusted the waist straps of her pack. “We’re rock stars to these guys! We’re _cool_. Enjoy it.”

Fitz didn’t reply, instead pressing his lips down into a thin line. Wanting to try and push past his discomfort, Jemma put on her best smile. “Well, let’s go in, shall we?” she said brightly. “We don’t want to keep our client waiting.”

They walked down the pavilion toward the pier, navigating the crowd as best they could. A few people waved to them and cheered; Daisy and Jemma smiled and waved back while Mack nodded. Fitz alone kept his eyes focused straight ahead. He’d never enjoyed the public aspects of their job, that much Jemma knew, but she also suspected that his nervousness over their subject had a lot to do with his stiff mood.

Waiting for them at the front entrance to the park was a familiar figure in police uniform, who straightened from where he was leaning against the central kiosk, smiling widely at them.

“Hey Officer, long time, no see!” Daisy called out as they approached. “But there’s no trouble here, you can go back to the station, we’ve got it covered.”

Antoine Triplett, or Trip, as he liked to be called, only grinned wider and straightened his duty belt. “Come on, girl, you know you gotta have someone from the force present at all yours calls. You mean to tell me you’d rather have one of the other guys come out here?”

“Never.” Daisy stopped directly in front of him, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “You know you’re my favorite. You’re the best at helping us catch all the bad, scary ghosts.”

Next to Jemma, Mack let out a quiet groan, rolling his eyes. On her other side, Fitz was shooting her a long-suffering look. Jemma bit her lip. Daisy always flirted outrageously with Trip, and he never failed to tease her right back, oozing his natural charm and easygoing nature. She often wondered why they hadn’t started dating yet, but perhaps they just enjoyed the thrill of the chase. Daisy had once commented that she was allowed to flirt all she wanted after having spent years being subjected to what she called Jemma and Fitz’s nauseatingly cute will they-won’t they.

Trip let out a sputtering laugh. “Girl, that’s _your_ job.” Then he jerked a thumb back towards the park. “Come on, I’ll show you guys inside. I’ve already spoken to the manager, she’s waiting on us.”

He led them through the crowds towards the back, near the Ferris wheel that towered over the rest of the park. It was tellingly not in motion; Jemma the reason why as they neared the base. A large area had been roped off around it and some of the sideshow attractions nearby, cutting off access to the ride. Next to the ropes was a nervous-looking middle aged lady, who introduced herself as Shelby, one of the managers.

“Chuckles is in there,” she said in a stage whisper, pointing toward the arcade. “He’s been knocking over things and rattling the stalls all day. I’ve never seen him this active or this... _upset_ before. It’s bothering the guests so we’d, er...we’d really like to get this taken care of as quickly as possible.” She looked up at the Ferris wheel. “This is one of our biggest attractions, so the sooner we can reopen it, the better.”

Mack craned his neck, trying to see as far past the cordon as he could. “And you’re sure he’s in there?”

Shelby nodded. “He’s always stuck to the same area. And I saw him for myself just before I called.” As if on cue, there was a muffled crash from somewhere nearby, like the sound of something metal crashing to the ground. Shelby jumped slightly, then gave them a bracing smile. “See?”

“We’ll get right on it,” Daisy said. “You’ll be Chuckles-free in no time.”

Trip pulled away a section of rope in order to let them pass through into the blocked-off area, then followed behind them. They walked slowly, not wanting to startle the ghost and possibly anger it. Jemma had her PKE meter out, focused on the display readout that tracked psychokinetic energy levels in the immediate area. In her periphery, she saw that Fitz had already taken hold of the blaster attached to his proton pack.

They had just reached the first of the sideshow stalls when Daisy came to an abrupt halt, gasping, and threw out an arm to stop the rest of them.

“Found him,” she said quietly.

Jemma looked up to see the wispy, glowing outline of a man drifting near one of the stalls ahead of them. His torso was clearly visible, the ruffled neck of his costume distinct down to a comically rotund middle, but faded into nothingness around his knees. As he turned to float across the concourse to another stall, they could make out the lines of the traditional white and black face paint of a clown, along with the plastic bald cap and curly puffs of hair in a halo around the back of his head.

“Jemma, are you getting all this?” Daisy asked, still keeping her voice down.

“Yes--yes, I am,” she replied, fumbling to switch on the device clipped to her belt that measured things like temperature changes and barometric pressure. In her other hand, the PKE meter was blinking rapidly, the quiet beeps it emitted signaling their proximity to a ghost having sped up into a constant drone. Then she looked over to Fitz. His face had visibly gone pale and he was biting his lower lip hard, but his shoulders were squared as if in defiance of his fear.

“Definitely a Class III,” Jemma murmured, looking back toward the ghost. “Anchored to this location, possibly focused, corporeal, telekinetic capabilities.” As she spoke, a cotton candy machine standing near the ghost shuddered and toppled over to the ground with a crash. “We haven’t had a kinetic one in awhile. I wonder what’s made him upset?”

Fitz let out a soft huff. “Who cares? Let’s just get this over and done with,” he said. “Mack, have you got the trap ready?”

Mack held up the small, rectangular box up by its handle. “Ready and set to go.”

“ _I_ care,” Jemma mumbled, thinking of all the data they could gain from attempting to communicate with the ghost. But she didn’t want to prolong Fitz’s discomfort, and Shelby _had_ said she wanted things taken care of as quickly as possible. Shaking her head, she clipped the PKE meter back to her belt and reached back to draw her blaster over her shoulder. “Ready?”

Before anyone could answer, the ghost suddenly turned sharply toward them before coming to complete halt, its head tilting to one side.. Its stillness had an unnatural feeling to it--as much as it could, being a ghost--and it left a nervous feeling in the pit of Jemma’s stomach. It was like it was studying them.

“Uh, guys?” Trip asked from behind them. “What’s it doing?”

“I don’t know,” Mack said slowly. “You know how unpredictable these things can get.”

Next to Jemma, Fitz swallowed thickly. “Can ghosts smell fear?”

Despite the eeriness that had settled over them, Daisy snorted, and Jemma fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Ghosts can’t smell anything, Fitz, you know that.”

“Are you sure?” Fitz snapped, his wide eyes trained firmly on the ghost. “Because I’m bloody terrified and Chuckles is staring right at me.”

Indeed, the ghost seemed to be looking at him, considering him. It bobbed forward a few feet towards him.

“Woah, woah,” Fitz said sharply, taking two steps back, his hands clenching where he held his blaster. “Hold it right there. I’ve got a nuclear accelerator on my back and I know how to use it.”

The ghost floated even closer, its head tilting to the other side.

“Somehow, I don’t think he cares,” Daisy said drily, lifting her blaster up into firing position. “Let’s cook this guy.”

Then several things happened all at once.

The ghost let out a loud roar before zooming towards Fitz at an alarming speed, just as Daisy fired her blaster. The bright beam of energy that lanced out missed the ghost and hit the stall behind it instead, throwing up a bright shower of sparks. Meanwhile, Fitz had let out a scream of pure terror, backpedaling away as fast as he could, but before he could turn around, the ghost flew right through him. Jemma and Trip both cried out as Fitz was knocked to the ground; behind him, the ghost swooped around, preparing to make another run.

“Daisy, now!” Mack yelled.

Daisy took aim and fired again. This time, the beam caught the ghost square in the middle, and it let out a piercing shriek as it was frozen in place. Jemma tore her gaze away from Fitz, who was unmoving on the ground, and fired her own blaster. Mack stepped forward to throw the trap out. Working together, Daisy and Jemma both pulled up on their blasters, slowly bringing the ghost inside the range of the trap. The second the first faint wisps of the bottom of its body hit the light coming from the trap, it was sucked down into it, the tiny doors closing with a decisive snap.

The sudden silence was deafening to Jemma’s ears as she exchanged a relieved look with Daisy. Then she turned toward Fitz, who was lying on his side a few yards away, moaning quietly.

“Fitz!” she cried, and holstered her blaster before running to him, the others hot on her heels. “Fitz, are you alright? You--”

She stopped as she dropped to kneel next to him, her hands reaching out to hover over his body. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips pulled back in a grimace, and the entire front of him--from the top of his head down to his waist--was covered in a layer of slime.

“Holy shit,” Daisy cried, just as Jemma breathed, “Ectoplasmic residue!”

Trip pulled a face. “What the hell?”

“Ectoplasmic residue,” Jemma repeated, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “Trace evidence left behind from when a ghost interacts with the physical world. It’s fairly common, but we’ve never had one of us get slimed before--” Then her face fell. “I don’t have any sample cups on me!”

Fitz groaned again, trying to roll onto his back, but was hampered by the bulk of his proton pack. “Jemma, _please_ ,” he croaked. “Could you try not to sound so happy? I’ve just been violated by my worst nightmare.”

“But you’re okay, Turbo?” Mack asked, leaning over to get a better look at him. “You don’t feel weird or anything?”

Fitz rolled back onto his side, his face the very picture of disgust. “I feel like the floor of a taxi cab.”

Daisy laughed, but stopped as Trip came around to join Jemma, a large wad of paper napkins in his hand. “I grabbed these from the hot dog vendor,” he said. “We can at least get his hands and face cleaned up.”

Jemma took the napkins that Trip offered and set about wiping the slime off Fitz’s face as gently as she could, tutting as he continued to complain about how gross he felt, how cold the slime was, how he was wearing one of his favorite shirts and who knew what it would take to get it properly clean again?

Once she’d removed as much slime as she could, Trip went to go find a trash bag to put their waste in, to bring back to their office (she was determined to get her samples one way or another), and Mack took Fitz’s hand to haul him back to his feet, taking care not to get any of the ooze on him.

“Thanks,” Fitz muttered, then looked despairingly down at his chest, which was still thoroughly slimed. “Can’t wait to get home and get the rest of this crap off me.”

Daisy led the way back to the cordon, where Shelby was waiting for them. “All taken care of!” she called out as they approached, and Shelby looked up, relief written all over her face. Then she saw Fitz, and she took a slight step back, her brow furrowing. “Oh, don’t mind him,” Daisy added, nodding toward Fitz. “It’s all part of the job.”

Fitz muttered something very quietly under his breath that Jemma couldn’t catch.

“But he’s gone?” Shelby asked, looking at the trap that Mack was holding, still smoking slightly. “You got rid of Chuckles?”

“He won’t be troubling you any more,” Mack said, gesturing to the trap.

Shelby sighed, looking both relieved and a bit sad. “It’s a shame,” she said after a moment. “Because he’d been here so long, but...anyway. Thank you.”

Jemma nodded. “You’re very welcome. Now, if there isn’t anything else…?”

“No, no, you’ve been a great help. And I’m sure _he_ wants to…” She frowned at Fitz. “Get cleaned up.”

“Yes, _he_ does,” Fitz grumbled, but Jemma pasted on a bright smile before he could complain any further.

“We’ll send you an invoice,” she said, prodding Fitz to walk ahead of her, toward the park entrance. “Thanks for calling us!”

They walked back out to the parking lot as quickly as they could, their progress somewhat impeded by the park goers who stopped stare at them with their packs and the trap and Fitz’s slime. Trip parted from them as they neared his car, but not before he snapped a photo of Fitz on his phone. “The guys down at the station are gonna love this,” he said, grinning. “Haven’t gotten to show them slime yet.”

“I’m glad I could be a source of amusement for you,” Fitz yelled as Trip walked away, but there was surprisingly little heat behind it.

They got their equipment stowed away in the back of Daisy’s van, and got some old towels that they kept around expressly for this purpose spread out on one of the back seats so Fitz wouldn’t get it dirty. Then they drove back to the office. Once they were there, they got everything stored and locked down for the night, and transferred the towels to Jemma’s car so she could drive Fitz home. After that, they all said goodnight and went their separate ways.

“Do you mind if I stay tonight?” Jemma asked as she pulled into Fitz’s apartment complex. He’d been quiet for most of the ride, staring out the window and holding himself stiffly so he wouldn’t accidentally slime the upholstery of her car.

“Hmm? Oh, oh yeah--sure,” he said. “I’d be glad for it, actually.”

The small smile he gave her warmed her heart considerably.

In his apartment, Jemma helped Fitz get his slimed clothes off. While he went off to take a (probably very hot) shower, she took his clothes and the bag of paper napkins Trip had given her to the kitchen, where she used a butter knife to carefully scrape some of the ectoplasmic residue into a Tupperware container, making a mental note to buy him a new one. It wasn’t up to her usual standards of lab protocol and sample collection, but it would have to do. She was sure she could get at least a little bit of valuable data out of it.

When she returned to the bedroom, Fitz was still in the shower. Jemma smiled to herself--no doubt he was giving himself a thorough washing, probably one or two extra rinses. She couldn’t really blame him. Getting changed into the pajamas she kept at his apartment didn’t take long, and by the time Fitz finally emerged from the bathroom, clad only in his boxers, his skin scrubbed pink, Jemma was already in bed, reading an article on his tablet.

“Feeling any better?” she asked as she set the tablet aside on the nightstand and patted the spot next to her on the bed, where she’d turned the covers down for him.

“Loads better,” Fitz sighed, climbing into bed and pulling the sheets up to his waist. “Though...I swear I can still _feel_ it.” He grimaced and looked down at himself, brushing his hands against his stomach as if brushing away invisible slime. “It took me two tries to get it all out of my hair.”

Jemma laughed. “You look fine,” she said, reaching over to cup his jaw, her thumb brushing over his cheek. “No more slime.” When he smiled, leaning his face into her touch, she said, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Nothing a good night of sleep can’t fix.”

She leaned in to give him a gentle kiss, her hand sliding around to scratch through the hair at the top of his neck. “I thought you were really brave, you know,” she murmured when they finally broke apart.

Fitz made a face and looked away. “Brave? Right,” he said. “I was bloody scared, is what I was. I tried to run away!”

“So?” Jemma asked, bringing both her hands up to frame his face, turning it back towards her. “It’s possible to be both scared and brave at the same time.”

“Over a stupid ruddy clown,” he mumbled.

She shook her head and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “It’s not stupid,” she said. “You’ve been afraid of clowns nearly your whole life, and tonight you stared a _ghost_ clown--arguably far scarier than a real one--in the face and did your best to stand your ground. I’d call that a victory.”

Fitz bit his lip, looking unconvinced. “You think so?”

Jemma beamed. “I _know_ so.”

His mouth curved into a small smile in return. “And you’re the smartest person I know, so…”

“Exactly. You know I’m right.” She twisted to turn off the bedside lamp, then made to snuggle down into the blankets, tugging Fitz with her. It took them a moment to arrange themselves comfortably, Fitz on his back and an arm around her where she’d pillowed her head on his shoulder, and she smiled again as she felt him drop a kiss to the crown of her head. “Sleep well, Fitz. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied softly, and squeezed his arm around her. “Thank you for everything today.”

Jemma patted his chest, where her hand lay over his heart. “Always.”

And as they fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, Jemma felt confident that if they ever had to confront another Chuckles, Fitz would handle it far better than he felt himself capable of.


End file.
